


Best of Pines & Best of Girlfriends

by AllenbysEyes



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M, Romantic Fluff, what is love?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-08 11:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13456935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllenbysEyes/pseuds/AllenbysEyes
Summary: Charlie surprises Mabel with a weekend trip to Portland! While enjoying the city, they take stock of how they truly feel about each other, where their relationship stands - and where to take things from here. Some romantic fluff/character development in my usual timeline. Takes place simultaneous to Embers and Ashes. Rated T just in case!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another short-ish fic as a bridge/intermission between two big ones, focusing on Mabel's feelings towards an original character in this story arc. Hope you enjoy!

**July 26th, 2018**

Mabel Pines loved Charlie Huston. That much she knew.

Maybe she didn't know  **why** , exactly. She turned that question over in her mind every spare minute she had. She wondered why this person, who was  _so unlike_  her usual crushes, made her feel more deeply than boys she had known and dated and thought she'd loved in the past.

He was a dork. He was a loser. He was more socially awkward than Dipper. He loved history and old movies and Philip Roth novels and all kinds of nerdy stuff. He dreamed of being a writer, which was fine...but a writer about history, which was...a bit iffier.

He wasn't exactly  _bad_  looking, but he was decidedly unremarakble in appearance. He cut his hair as short as possible without actually being bald, in a severe crewcut that seemed militaristic. She usually liked her boyfriends to have longer, curlier hair. He was thin but with a slight paunch and muscles like string beans. He struggled to shave and invariably had razor nicks on his face when they went on dates. Though she didn't notice it until the second time they slept together, he had a large, inoperable cyst on the side of his nose that drove her crazy when she stared at it too long (fortunately, his glasses usually hid it enough that Mabel could avoid madness most of the time).

And yet, over the past month, he'd won Mabel's heart more than anyone she'd ever met. She already knew that she wanted to be his girlfriend for the long-term, that he wasn't just some passing fancy. She thought, constantly, about how they'd maintain their relationship when the summer ended and they went off to separate schools. She thought, fleetingly, about  _marrying_  him and having kids and what they would do together. Though she was obviously getting ahead of herself.

Usually, when Mabel fell for someone, it was an instant smack of hormones and attraction that she couldn't resist. She obsessed over her latest crush, couldn't stop thinking about him, couldn't stand not to be around him (yet often found being around him intolerable, as well). The crush would be everything, her entire life and consuming every waking moment.

And then, after the initial flush of excitement wore off, she invariably lost interest and moved on to the next target.

Why? Mostly because she had an eye for the worst kinds of guys. Sometimes they were werewolves or vampires or mermen or pony-tailed puppet fetishes. Sometimes they were Alexander Hamilton, who looked cute on the $10 bill (and even cuter as Lin-Manuel Miranda) but obviously wasn't a viable option, having been dead for two centuries. More often they were commonplace jerks, who may or may not reciprocate her feelings. Guys like Harry Brubaker, who stole Mabel's heart and owned it for weeks, only to stomp on it in the most humiliating, public fashion imaginable.

All because she wasn't his ideal girlfriend. She hoped he was happy with the Queen Bee, though she wagered he'd forgotten about her, too, after he'd gotten what he wanted.

Maybe Wendy was right. Maybe guys were assholes. Certainly Mabel would agree that most of the guys she'd dated, or tried to date, or at least pined over, fit that description.

But Charlie wasn't.

Maybe it was that simple.

She liked that he was awkward and insecure. Because it meant that he held the door open for her, that he always (or almost always) asked before holding her hand or kissing her or doing anything unduly physical, anything that might embarrass her in public (at least, when she didn't do it first!). It meant that he wouldn't do anything that she didn't want to do, wouldn't pressure her into acting against her wishes. And she really appreciated that.

She liked that he was a nerd. Ordinarily a history lesson or a lecture on politics would have put her to sleep. But look how passionate he was! He could make the verities of Watergate, the infighting among the Founding Fathers, even the dullest intricacies of labor movements - things she wouldn't have cared less about back in Piedmont - fascinating through his sheer conviction that it was worth talking about. She really wondered why he wasn't training to be a teacher, and thought she might, once they were together longer, try and push him in that direction. The world was missing out!

And in any case, what was wrong with being a nerd? So was she, in her own weird, silly way. They were nerdy together, about many things. They loved bad pop music and showtunes. They enjoyed singing karaoke, whether in the car or among friends.

And now that she'd had a taste of governing, albeit forty years in the past, or maybe just because of him, she was even coming around on history. She'd started reading Ron Chernow's Hamilton book, something she'd put off for years, and while she'd only made it through about 100 pages in a week, she wasn't regretting it at all. She just wished that she could read as fast as he did - he usually managed three or four books a week.

She even didn't mind that he wasn't exactly an Adonis. Maybe it helped that she was insecure about her looks, too, and dating someone who looked like Charlie seemed...right. But he loved to hug and cuddle and be physical, as reluctant as he was to display affection public. He was a bit awkward about kissing, but he could do that if he had to. And he had a nice smile and broad shoulders and...all the component parts were there, Mabel thought. She just needed to bring them out.

And, though she hadn't said anything to him, nor to anyone but Wendy, she loved sleeping with him, even if they hadn't actually had sex yet (and probably wouldn't for awhile). She loved curling up in his arms before she fell asleep. She loved hearing his heart beat. She loved just feeling a warm body beside her as she slept, which made her feel secure, feel safe, feel like she wasn't alone, that there was someone there who cared about her and would always be there and  **always**  try to make her happy.

 _He cared about her_. That's probably what it came down to, more than anything. He'd taken a cattle prod to the chest for her within a few days of their first meeting. He'd been shot and actually died for her (even if they'd fixed it later on, and she nearly returned the favor!). He wasn't the toughest or the strongest or the manliest guy around, but he was coming along okay. Clearly, being around awesome people like her and Dipper and Wendy was making an impact!

And he cared about her in many other ways. He always insisted on paying for anything, like a gentleman. He tried wearing her sweaters when they hung out together, even if they made him look ridiculous or feel sweaty. He bought her a million tiny trinkets and doo-dads that she wore or put on her shelf or always kept them in mind (she refused to go anywhere without her shooting star pin). He never told her she was silly or ridiculous, even when he didn't like something Mabel had done or said.

She remembered the first time she was sure of her feelings...when they were on their first date and he froze up in traffic and narrowly avoided an accident. And opened up to her about having anxiety and needing medication. Her first thought had been sadness and pity, maybe a little anger at herself for feeling angry at him...and then something warmer, like he'd flicked on a switch inside her.

While she didn't have an answer for his situation, couldn't offer him anything more than general support...it meant a lot to her that he could confide something like to her, rather than try to bluff his way through or pretend it was no big deal. That he would trust her with that, trust her not to judge him and to be honest with her. That he didn't mind appearing vulnerable in front of a woman.

Which was a  _very_  un-guy thing to do, as Wendy might say.

And he loved her. She could tell that, too.

He struggled to express it - Mabel's exact opposite, in that regard. Any time he tried to say "I love you," or anything like it, he choked on the words and teared up, frustrated, as if these were emotions he wasn't used to having.

Even so, it became more and more obvious whenever she thought about it. How a million gestures and actions and confidences expressed his affection in their own quiet way. How he might not be the most super-romantic person in the world, any more than he was the strongest or the sexiest or the most exciting guy on Earth.

But that was okay. Because he loved Mabel Pines.

And Mabel Pines loved him.

* * *

Charlie Huston loved Mabel Pines.

At least, he  _thought_  he did.

He always second-guessed himself. He needed to stop doing that. But he realized that telling himself to stop wouldn't help. Especially when confronted with Mabel Pines, who was so alien to his personality and experience with friends and what he usually felt comfortable with that he needed to be really,  _really_  sure that he liked what he was getting.

When he first met Mabel at the museum, he found her a bit odd. Just the fact of a moderately attractive girl flirting with him was strange enough...it wasn't a common occurrence. But her in-your-face, loud and screaming personality was something else entirely. And the  **sweaters**! She was _exactly_  the kind of person he would have given a wide berth if he'd known them in school or elsewhere. And he'd known plenty, especially during his time dabbling in theater.

The fact that she liked him enough to keep hanging around...well, at first he wrote it off as researching whatever was going on in with the break-in and the Corduroys and whatnot. And maybe it was, at first. But it was clear that, at the very least, she had a crush on him.

And for the life of him, Charlie couldn't figure out why.

He'd never been able to understand what people saw in him. It was beyond his ability to understand.

Sure, if he actually asked his friends they would tell him the same things. That he was nice and smart and all of those things, vague, general, generic praise that you could give anyone. But he was also insecure and introverted and only cared about weird things and was sure that no one valued that but him. He had no clue why he had so many friends, and why they thought so highly of him. He had no idea how girls, especially someone like Mabel, who was his perfect opposite, could find  _anything_  about him appealing or attractive.

It hurt, but he was resigned to it. He felt he was doomed to spend the rest of his life alone, puttering around dark libraries and dusty museums doing his work and indulging his harmless passions, only interacting with people when he had to. Always at the fringe of the crowd, politely acknowledged, perhaps even welcomed to join in, but always feeling out of place, uncomfortable. Always finding an excuse to be alone.

So what on Earth could he do with  **her**?

Something changed with that night when they confronted Questadt. He had only dim memories - he didn't even remember being electrocuted, exactly, and very little of what came afterwards. Which was fine - it was a traumatic experience, and what little he could remember were mostly spasms and flashes of pain, when he lost control of his body and couldn't think or do anything but suffer.

Then he remembered waking up in the middle of the night, asleep on a strange couch in a building he didn't recognized, surrounded by weird taxidermy animals and garish clown paintings. His body still sizzling with pain and electricity, his mind still a blur. But he was conscious enough to see Mabel sleeping next to him on the couch, her sweater pulled up around her face, her light brown hair a frazzled mess.

Clutching his hand.

Even with her asleep, it was a death grip.

He didn't know what to think, at first. But his instant thought was that this was something special. Some **one**  special. That she wasn't capable of creativity and weirdness and being loud and exuberant. That she had so much love in her, that it hurt.

That Mabel was Love.

That was how Charlie viewed her, from that moment on. Even if he couldn't express it. That she was fun and vibrant and beautiful and extremely cute and smelled like strawberries was just a sweetener.

It took him awhile to fill out the human contours to his vision, to find more of the kinks and flaws in her personality, the minor annoyances he'd have to deal with in a relationship (which with Mabel were often amplified like a stereo), the minor traits that he'd find endearing and that no one else could appreciate. He found the latter greatly outnumbering the former, the more he got to know her.

He liked her scrapbooks and her photo albums. He'd dabbled in the photographic arts himself, and while he wasn't any good at it, he kept pictures from his school days and activities, too. He even grew to appreciate her sweaters, over time. Especially the ones she made for him.

He found _so much_  to like about her, too. The way she bounced when she walked - she could make a simple trip across the room seem like skipping. He loved her hair, so rich and full, and wished she would grow it out again. She loved her smile and the perpetual twinkle in her eye and especially her voice, which was shrill in the sweetest, most endearing way imaginable.

And he  **loved**  singing karaoke with her. She seemed perpetually tickled that a brainiac like him would enjoy &ndra so much and that he knew all the words. (Though he wondered what she expected him to like - Brahms and Beethoven?) That was one time when he could cut loose and be weird and wild just like her. It was a connection that he valued more than anything else about their relationship.

He loved that she brought him in contact with Dipper, whom he felt, after initial awkwardness, to be something of a kindred spirit. Someone as smart as him, maybe even smarter - possibly even more awkward. Definitely as determined and passionate in his interest. And Wendy Corduroy! What an amazing woman she was. How much he loved hanging out with her. And how much these friends had inspired him to be better.

He knew he'd never have even thought about taking a cattle prod to the chest for anyone before this summer. He knew he'd never travel back in time - he certainly didn't think he would be shot or have to outfight and outrun crazed cultists. He still had nothing on his friends, who managed to be nerds yet tough as nails at the same time, but he was getting better, getting stronger and braver and more self-confident. And he liked it.

He started eating better. More salads and sandwiches, less junk food. He tried to exercise, though he found his stamina disappointing whenever he'd try to run or do anything too intense. Still, he'd already lost four pounds over the past two weeks. He hoped Mabel would notice. Certainly his coworkers at the Museum did.

At the same time, he appreciated that his friends showed interest in him, too. He'd known Wendy already, and had imagined her as someone who would sleep through any history class, however entertaining she found it. Yet she was urging him to write a story about her ancestor Rick, sending him emails and articles and all manner of material to sift through for an article.

And Mabel! After they returned from 1974, she peppered him with  **endless**  questions about Watergate and Congress to help her get a better understanding of what she'd gone through. Now she was reading a Ron Chernow book. Mabel Pines.

And every time she finished a chapter, she would either call or email him for help discussing it. Charlie had to dig out his old beat-up paperback and catch up, to make sure they were on track. To his surprise, Mabel was both interested and a really quick study. Of course, knowing the Hamilton soundtrack frontwards and backwards certainly helped.

Maybe this was what friends are, what real friends do. They make you better. They rub off on you. They share their interests and want to know yours. They share their strengths while nourishing yours, they confide their weakness and help you confront your own. Certainly he was seeing it work both ways.

Maybe Charlie Huston finally understood friendship. If nothing else, he felt grateful to Mabel - and Dipper, and Wendy - for that.

But he still couldn't figure out Mabel, not exactly. And, if he were honest, he still wasn't one hundred percent sure how he felt about her. If she was just his own version of a Manic Pixie Dream Girl (though he knew Mabel enough to know that no, she had dreams and aspirations and fears and regrets of her own, and that was unfair to her, and to him). If he needed someone who was less into sweaters and show tunes and more into hardcore history. If she was The One.

Though if not her, than who?

Not that he doubted it, not really. He just wanted to be sure.

And so, that Thursday night, with a long and potentially boring weekend staring them in the face, he thought of a way to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

**July 28th, 2018**

When Charlie arrived at the Shack, dawn was still breaking over the horizon, the morning mists still hanging low over the grass. And he was still struggling to wake up, amazed that he could drive, a little annoyed at having to wake up on a Saturday morning, despite the fun day promised.

Yet Mabel was already waiting by the front door, bearing a small suitcase and a freshly-woven sweater and her inimitable smile. Charlie wondered how many cups of Mabel Juice she'd consumed before he'd driven over.

"Did you bring a clean outfit for tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Are you  _really_  going to wear  **that**  to the play?"

"It's a polo shirt, Mabel. You know I always wear these when I can get away with it."

"I don't know if it's formal enough for the play..."

"They don't make you dress up. And besides, I don't think a sweater is appropriate theater attire either."

"The sweater has an airplane on it, it's perfectly themed for the show!"

And so on. But she also made sure to ask him:

"Do you have the tickets?"

"Tickets are waiting for us, Mabel. I told you, Violet's holding them for us at the admissions box."

"It's so cool that your friend can get us in for free! I feel like I'm on a list or something!"

"You are. The list of people who know someone who knows Violet Lieberman, which is pretty long."

"Either way, I'm on it!"

As Mabel climbed into the car, she fastened her seat belt. Something occurred to her.

"Now, Charlie, this is important...Do you have your meds?"

"They're in the back, Mabel. Packed 'em with my toothbrush and my deodorant."

"Good. I know you don't like being in big social situations like this, so..."

"I mean, attending a play doesn't usually..."

"But, better safe than sorry! This is our first big thing together that doesn't involve getting shot at or beaten up or having Dipper and Wendy along with us. I just want everything to be perfect!"

"I doubt it will perfect," Charlie said, grimacing. "I mean, it's us, after all. But...I'll try and make sure we can have a good time."

"Sounds like a plan," Mabel smiled. "Now, let's get moving. I wanna get as much shopping and eating and sightseeing in today as we can!"

"The show's not until like 7:00, Mabel. We have twelve hours..."

"It'll be at least three hours till we get there! And God knows how long it will take to park in the city."

"True." And Charlie started the car and slowly backed down the Shack's driveway.

"And we're off!" Mabel enthused. "Let's crank up the tunes, because this is going to be the most fun..."

They were stopped by a thump which shook the car, making Mabel scream and Charlie curse. He got out of the car and saw that he'd hit something in the road - a rock? a critter? - and killed the tire.

Charlie growled and gritted his teeth. Figured that their "perfect day" would start off like that. And he hoped to God that he had a spare tire in the back...

* * *

Things got better once they hit the highway. Mabel started chattering excitedly about Portland, about the play and the shops she wanted to visit and the food she wanted to try. She seemed really insistent that Charlie try something from a food cart rather than a boring old restaurant, "because Portland has the best food cart pods on the Planet!" Charlie told her that was fine so long as they had Mexican or Greek food.

And she wanted to discuss the Hamilton book.

"I just finished Chapter Six last night!" Mabel said. "Talked a lot about Hamilton and John Laurens. Author seems to think that they might have had some kinda affair, which I really didn't expect. How interesting!"

"I'm not sure I buy that," Charlie responded. "But I guess it's a valid interpretation."

"I mean, they referred to each other in very intimate and loving language. Seems to me like they were more than just friends."

"Maybe. I mean, people were gay in the eighteenth century, too. But they would have done a lot to hide it."

"Yeah, I guess so. But that's sad, don't you think?"

"Very sad," Charlie said.

"They couldn't be themselves, they had to pretend to be someone else all the time."

"Yeah, it was pretty miserable. I mean, a lot of people still go through that today. It hasn't gotten much easier, depending on where you live."

"Yeah."

A downcast feeling came over them. But it only lasted a moment.

"Wait until you reach the next chapter," Charlie said. "That's when Hamilton meets the Schuyler sisters!"

Mabel squealed in delight and instinctively cranked on her iPod. "You know what this calls for!"

"Mabel, it's a bit early..."

"It's  **never**  too early!" she insisted.

She tuned her iPod to "The Schuyler Sisters" and immediately forced Charlie to start singing with her.

For most of the song, he just chimed in reluctantly with a grumbled, sleepy "Work, work" on the chorus as Mabel belted the rest of the lyrics. Too early for him to be musical.

But when they reached the last verse, he couldn't help shouting out "Look around, look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now!" Because, watching his girlfriend jamming next to him, how could he disagree?

* * *

"I mean, how do you even  **decide**  on a major? There are so many things I want to do, and how's it even _possible_  to do them all in four years? Or even a fraction? What if I pick theater and not art? What if I really want to study Political Science or Literature or whatever? Or fashion? What if I pick the wrong thing and regret it forever?"

"Mabel, those are the questions college freshmen have been asking themselves since the beginning of time. Heck, some adults don't even know the answer."

"You're lucky, Charlie. I'm sure you knew, like, from the moment you could  **speak**  what you wanted to do in college."

"Not as lucky as you think. I mean, the job market for history majors is pretty paltry. And, not necessarily true, either," he said, ducking his head down as if confiding a dread secret.

"When I first declared my major...I wanted to study film."

Mabel gasped with exaggerated shock. "No  **way**!"

"Way! I mean, I grew up watching old movies on AMC and TCM with my Dad. More John Wayne Westerns and old war movies than I can remember. Then I got into more sophisticated stuff later on. Probably know more about David Lean epics or Italian genre movies than is healthy. But, yeah, I thought I was going to be a great director."

"What changed your mind?"

"One day I was taking a film course up in Bend. This was before I got my car, so I had to take a bus up there. It wasn't too bad, except in the wintertime which made roads a nightmare. And there was only one shuttle that ran up there...

"Anyway. We had to do our first short film project, and I had to travel out to the studio to grab some materials. Like, a camera and a tripod and some piece of cardboard you use to adjust lighting...can't remember the terminology at this point. Anyway, I was trying to juggle all of these things and stand at the bus stop in the snow, but they were too heavy, so I sat the camera down - it was in a box, so it was safe. And then the bus came. And I had to bend down and pick up the camera...and I dropped the tripod and the cardboard into the snow! And by the time I'd gathered everything together, the cardboard was ruined and the tripod all messed up and the bus was gone. And I had to wait another hour-and-a-half for another bus to come by."

Mabel laughed hysterically. Not quite the reaction he expected, but he smiled along with her.

"So yeah, maybe a silly reason to quit, but...I think that experience made me realize film wasn't for me."

"You should never let silly things like the weather get in the way of your passion!" Mabel said. "All great artists suffer for their work!"

"Maybe you're right," Charlie admitted. "But I can't say it's bothering me too much at this point. And, I mean, look at me. Do I strike you as an artist?"

Mabel giggled. "I don't know, what's an artist look like?"

Charlie took the mirror and tilted it towards her.

"Hello, gorgeous!" Mabel said and winked.

At this moment, "Satisfied" came up on Mabel's iPod. She screamed again and started singing. And this time, Charlie enthusiastically joined in.

* * *

"You know, no one's really asked me where my passion for knitting came from! Guess it's just something that's always been there. I was knitting sweaters, like, when I was four! Maybe younger! And crochet, and all kinds of stuff too!"

"Maybe you should, like, open a store and sell your creations. That would be a great way to use your skills."

"That's an idea and three-quarters! Between my natural talents and the business skills I've picked up from Grunkle Stan, I'll be an amazing saleswoman!"

"Sure! Then go for it! Though your customers might want someone with experience..."

"Well, Isabel told me that she'd be happy to let me work at her shop for the rest of the summer..."

"That would be great! Why don't you?"

"Because I'd miss hanging out with my brother! And you! And Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford! And all the rest of the crew!"

"Guess that's true. But we'd still see you..."

"Not the same! We need quality time. Summer's already half over."

"Yeah, I guess it is..."

Pause as the meaning of that sunk in. Mabel sighed before asking the question on both of their minds.

"Charlie...are we...are we still going to be together when summer ends?"

Charlie bit his lip and inhaled deeply.

"I hope so," he said noncommittally. Then realized that wasn't much comfort. So he put one hand on Mabel's and clutched it tight.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Mabel," he said sternly, without a hint of humor. "I mean it. If there's any way...If we can..."

And he couldn't finish the thought. The idea that they might not was too sad to contemplate.

Fortunately, "Cool" by &ndra came on the iPod next. And the familiar beat of their song snapped them back into unleavened joy.

* * *

"...I tried out for  **all**  the parts in  _Footloose_! I wanted to be Ariel, and Rusty, and Vi Moore, and even some of the smaller roles. No dice! They didn't think I was a good enough singer. Can you believe that? They ended up sticking me in the chorus and all I got to do was sing and dance along with everyone else."

"What a waste."

"At least when we did  _The Fantasticks_  they gave me a pretty important role."

"And a pretty challenging one, I imagine."

"Yeah, being The Mute was...Hey!"

And Mabel smacked him on the shoulder. And a Katy Perry song that Mabel liked and Charlie hated (which was redundant) came on the iPod, as suitable revenge.

* * *

They finally made it to Portland around 11:00, just in time for lunch. They stopped in the hotel, dropped off their bags, then bolted off to the food carts which Mabel had suggested.

"You have a real bad weakness for Mexican food," she said, watching him slather hot sauce on an oversized baja chicken taco. She had grabbed a turkey sandwich from another cart.

"It's my one flaw," Charlie conceded, shaking the empty bottle until the last drops of spice splashed out.

"I mean, I like Mexican every once in awhile, but it's like every meal for you!"

"Why not? You eat hamburgers all the time, let's talk about that!"

"That's not fair!  **Sometimes**  I eat pizza. And besides, that doesn't mess up my insides like a taco every other meal!"

"Burgers make my stomach hurt."

"Liar."

"Why would I lie about that? Too much grease."

"Ppppppp! I don't believe you! And either way, it can't make you  _smell_!"

"Maybe not," Charlie admitted, shoving the taco into his mouth. "But it's worth it."

"Not worth it for  _me_!" Mabel whined playfully. "I'm thinking about our hotel room tonight!"

Charlie rolled his eyes and chewed his food with exaggerated relish. Mabel stuck out her tongue and started wolfing down her sandwich.

"So much for your diet," Mabel teased between bites.

"Hey, I'm allowed to cheat every once in awhile."

"I guess," Mabel said. Then, almost casually: "You look good, by the way."

"Thanks."

"I mean it, Charlie! You almost make me feel bad about..."

Then she looked at Charlie, who had some hot sauce dribbling down his chin.

"Eww!" Mabel groaned before wiping it away with her napkin.

* * *

By noon it was sunny, and comfortably warm. The city bustled with Portlanders and tourists enjoying the day. Mabel wanted to go to a regular shopping mall, but Charlie took her to Bridgeport Village instead, where they could enjoy an outdoor shopping center.

For most of the afternoon, they played the young tourists whose eyes were wider than their wallets. Mabel gawked at the expensive designer clothes at the clothing shops and the nifty high heels while made her feet and ankles hurt just looking at them. They marveled at the furniture in Crate & Barrel, and nabbed some small cooking items at the Sur-la-Table. Then Charlie, naturally, led them into a bookstore and looked around.

He nabbed a new Harry Truman biography off the New Release table, then found a paperback copy of  _The Plot Against America_. Then he asked Mabel if she wanted anything.

"I do," she said mischievously. She bolted off to the music section and, almost before Charlie could react, returned with a familiar CD.

"Image, the new &ndra album!"

"Uh-huh!" Mabel said, practically bouncing up and down with excitement.

"I mean, are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, silly!"

"But the singles off it were dreadful!"

"Only that one song - You Did This To Me - was terrible! The others were pretty cool..."

"Agree to disagree."

"No agree to disagree! She's trying to be more mature and change up her style. She's not going to be the big-haired Everygirl any more, she's a  _sophisticated_  adult woman!"

"She's no more sophisticated than any other white pop singer who decides she's suddenly a rapper. That's just tacky."

"You just don't appreciate music these days! You're stuck in the past..."

At least, Charlie mused as their argument continued on, intense but playful, they'd finally found something to fight over.

* * *

After further debating &ndra's latest album, Mabel dragged Charlie to the Sunglass Hut. She bought two distinct pairs of sunglasses, one round and dark blue, the other with square frames, that she insisted on wearing herself.

"You don't have to pay for these," Mabel insisted.

"Don't worry about it," Charlie said, fishing around in his wallet.

"You're already going to bankrupt yourself," she said.

"Some people are worth bankrupting yourself over," Charlie muttered.

"That is the sweetest thing..." Mabel cooed, giving him a hug. Then she cried out in pain as the glasses pressed, too tight, against the bridge of her nose.

"Hey, you! Glasses Lady! Don't you have anything that was actually designed for a human nose!?"

* * *

They went back to the hotel around 3:30, Charlie's cash and credit cards spent. Charlie laid himself flat on his back, sighing with relief as he sunk into bed and closed his eyes. He looked forward to taking a quick nap before the show...

No chance of that, when Mabel bounded into the room and plopped down on the bed.

"Plenty of time to sleep later, Charlie!" Mabel said, rocking back and forth with excitement.

"Mabel..."

"Let's go for a swim!" she suggested.

"Not interested."

Mabel frowned. "Charlie, let's go for a swim. I brought my new one-piece suit..."

"That's great! But I don't have a suit, and I just wanna lay here."

"Ppppph. Wrong answer, Charlie!" And she dragged him off the bed.

"Mabel, come on!" He pulled his arm back, more violently than he intended. It startled her. And her reaction startled Charlie.

Charlie gasped and collapsed back onto the bed. "I'm sorry," he muttered instinctively. "Man, I'm so sorry. I'm such a jerk...I'm sorry."

Mabel watched Charlie bend over, starting to sink into self-pity and sadness. She was terrified that she had triggered an episode, which was the last thing she wanted to happen this day.

"Oh no!" she muttered under her breath as she sat down next to him. "Charlie, no, it's okay. I'm sorry for pushing you. Or, I guess, pulling you."

Charlie swallowed a sob and smiled at Mabel, who rubbed his back, then obliged him with a kiss on the forehead.

"You aren't going to have a bad day because of me!" Mabel said softly. "I won't let that happen. If you wanna rest, you can rest."

Then her voice regained its usual exuberance as she bolted to her feet. "But  **I'm**  going for a swim!"

"Well, I don't have a suit," Charlie muttered. "But I guess I could sit by the pool and watch..."

Mabel smiled. "I mean, it's better than nothing," she sighed, still a little disappointed.

"Besides, you wouldn't want me to smell all chlorinated like your brother before the show."

Mabel laughed at that. "You got  **that**  right! I want you to be  _less_  like Dipper, not more!"

"Good deal!"

* * *

Charlie made it through the first chapter relatively quickly. He didn't pay overmuch attention to the book, though. He watched Mabel swim around the pool. She looked awfully nice in her black swimsuit, as she'd implied, and she was a much more graceful swimmer than he'd remembered. Must take after her brother.

"What the hell," Charlie muttered. He put down his book and jumped headlong into the pool.

Mabel screamed, bobbing to the surface. "Charlie, what on Earth!?" she screamed.

"Didn't want you to feel lonely," Charlie said, water dripping down his face.

Mabel kicked him under the water and pushed away, swimming on her back and laughing. Charlie just sort of treaded water, watching her swim around.

"Probably should have taken my shirt off," Charlie groaned, feeling the shirt sticking tight to his chest.

"Yeah," Mabel agreed. "With that brain of yours, I'd have thought you'd have thought of that."

"My brain doesn't always work like it should," Charlie admitted, swimming to the side of the pool, preparing to lift himself out. He felt embarrassed, now, and wanted to go back to the room and sulk.

"Where are you going?" Mabel asked.

Charlie didn't answer. He pulled himself halfway out of the pool, then slipped and fell back in. After a moment, he tried again...then felt someone pulling him back into the water. He turned, startled, in time to receive a quick precision kiss on the lips.

"You aren't getting away  **that**  easy!" Mabel said, gliding backwards for a moment while clutching his hands. Charlie met her eyes and smiled.

Then, after a moment of drifting backwards, she suddenly leaped backwards into a backstroke and swam to the other edge of the pool.

And Charlie sighed and launched himself into a sloppy breaststroke, taking off after her.


	3. Chapter 3

After finishing their swim and taking a shower, the young couple laid in their hotel bed, drying off and reading together like real adults. Mabel had brought her Hamilton book along, and Charlie enjoyed watching her face screw into her "serious" scowl as she dug into the dense text. He put aside the Truman book and started reading his newly purchased Philip Roth novel, an alternate history parable about Charles Lindbergh becoming president in 1940 and turning America into a fascist state. Its current topicality unsettled and annoyed him.

He'd been chagrined, when he took his shower, that Mabel had used all the shampoo in the little hotel bottle! Though Charlie reasoned that her hair was about ten times as long as his says, so she probably needed it a hundred times more, he didn't relish smelling like chlorine all night.

But then, Mabel wasn't exactly happy that he'd ruined his one nice-ish outfit. Especially since he'd brought a somewhat ratty gray college tee and some crumpled-up bluejeans as his only backup clothes.

For now, both of them enjoyed the chance to relax a little. The drive and the flurry of shopping had exhausted both of them, and Charlie's stomach was, predictably enough, not taking well to the food cart taco he'd eaten. He was less worried about puking than passing gas at an inopportune moment...mostly because he knew how Mabel would react.

Then Mabel's phone buzzed and snapped them awake. Charlie looked at his watch and saw, to his amazement, that it was almost 5:30! The show would begin in an about an hour-and-a-half.

"It's Dipper!" Mabel said, jumping to her feet and fumbling with the phone. "Maybe this is your cue!"

"My cue to do what?" Charlie asked. Mabel shushed him. "Hold on one sec, Dip," she said, before putting her twin on hold.

"Go get your shirt," she said. "I'll talk to my brother and get ready. You run out to the store and grab your outfit."

"Okay...I'm just gonna grab a dress shirt and some cheap khakis," Charlie warned. "Nothing too fancy."

"And a tie."

"You  **know**  I can't tie a tie."

"Then get a clip-on or one of those zippy things," Mabel rasped, miming with her free hand, her voice getting more frustrated with him. "Just go! I trust you not to come back naked."

Charlie didn't know what to say to that, so he slipped out of bed, crunched his feet into his shoes and grabbed his wallet off the desk.

"Sorry about that," Mabel said to Dipper as he exited the apartment. "Any time, Dip Dop! What's up?"

* * *

It took Charlie awhile to find a store within walking distance. Eventually, he found a Target and ran inside, grabbing a long-sleeved dress shirt and some khakis off the discount rack. They weren't the nicest clothes ever, but they were about what one would expect Charlie to wear, and they were definitely better than a t-shirt.

 _Don't understand why I can't wear a t-shirt to a play_ , Charlie thought to himself.  _Just one of those dumb, arbitrary societal rules that I'll never understand. This isn't an opera or a command performance of some Pulitzer-winning drama, it's a silly French farce featuring provincial actors._

But he was old enough now to know that there was no point in fighting it. And he realized his dressing up would mean a lot to Mabel. He was more than willing to put up with minor annoyances for her.

Then he remembered the tie. Fortunately, he spotted a navy blue clip-on tie and thrust it into his basket.

He just hoped that he'd have some money left after they got back to Gravity Falls. He'd already spent a fortune today, and they still hadn't dinner and done anything for tomorrow. Mabel indicated she might want to visit the art museum before they returned home. And that would add another meal...and probably gas money.

_Fuck that. It's worth it. Think of your girlfriend, not yourself, douchebag._

(Which was fine to think and noble to say, except that he'd have to find a way to eat and keep himself alive for two weeks until his next payday.)

_It's worth it, pal. Get over yourself._

Thus inspired, he wandered through the clothing aisle until he spotted a blue sport coat. Cursing at himself, he picked it off the rack, noted that it was fifty percent off and jammed it in his basket.

_Okay, but I'm not getting shoes. I'm wearing sneakers with this outfit. Period._

* * *

Mabel hung up the phone and sighed loudly. Her brother getting in the middle of Pacifica drama? What else was new?

She tried her best, over the years, to tolerate, or to even like Pacifica. They'd gone from sworn enemies to close friends over the course of that first summer, and fluctuated back and forth over the following years.

Initially, she was thrilled when her brother started dating her. She'd always figured there was  _something_  between the two of them. Then they became a couple, and started fighting, and Dipper grew more and more miserable, and Pacifica grew harder and harder to tolerate. And it was hard for Mabel to come back.

Being Mabel, she still wanted Pacifica to be happy and power through the rough patch in her life. She'd been really happy when Pacifica helped them at the Northwest Mansion recently, and was glad to bury the hatchet with her. Holding grudges wasn't something Mabel  **did** , even against people she disliked.

But this? Pacifica running into Dipper's arms away from her parents? While Wendy was out of town? And he hadn't even  _told her_  about it? Mabel no like!

Still, there was only so much she could do from a distance. She thought about texting Wendy, but realized how angry Dipper would be if she broke confidence.

Hopefully things would be straightened out by the time she and Charlie got back. And that her brother would do the right thing. She trusted him, if only because he was so happy to be finally dating Wendy after all these years, that Mabel couldn't imagine Dipper messing it up.

 _That_  resolved, Mabel opened her little suitcase and carefully laid out her secret theater outfit. A nice fuchsia dress she'd "borrowed" from Isabel, with tank straps, a rounded neckline and a scoop back. Bright, but not screamingly obnoxious.

She and Isabel had spent much of the previous day re-cutting the dress to Mabel's measurements. (She'd wanted to give Mabel a brand new outfit, but her mom vetoed the idea.) As they worked, Isabel asked Mabel why she needed it.

"What do you mean? Of course I need it. We're going to the theater!"

"True. But you're going to the theater with Charlie. He won't care if you dress up in a sack."

"Well, I'm dressing up for me, even if he won't appreciate it," Mabel had insisted. Though she wondered about her friend and why she was being so dismissive.

Charlie and Isabel had a strange dynamic, she'd noticed. They'd been friends for several years, yet they always seemed to snipe and jab at each other. Maybe there was more to their relationship than either of them had let on. Maybe they had been a couple once and broke up, despite their protests to the contrary. Or maybe they really hated each other and pretended to be friends for Mabel's sake.

Either way, Izzy was probably right, Mabel realized. Charlie  **wouldn't**  mind if she wore a sack to the play. But she didn't see any problem with dressing up, either. Or looking nice. She was sure he'd appreciate it. And even if he was more of a blockhead than she thought, at least she'd like it.

Though she couldn't see how he wouldn't.

She looked at the jewelry she'd brought along, as well. Some modest pearl earrings and a metal bracelet which Wendy had loaned her. A little gold necklace that Grunkle Stan had given her a few summers ago, though she only wore it on special occasions.

And, of course, Charlie's shooting star pin.

She debated what to do with her hair. She thought about putting it up or curling it, but thought that would take too much time, and probably not be worth it. She'd decided against putting a bow or a ribbon in it. Instead she determined to make it as straight as she could.

 _I hope Charlie's ready to have his mind blown!_  Mabel thought, examining herself in the mirror. She smiled, looking at herself in her sweater and skirt. And her face drooped. The old worries about her appearance came back, for just a moment, and made her feel sad. But she forced them down and punched the mirror with her fist.

"Silly!" she said out loud. "Silly silly silly! Remember what Wendy said the other day! And...remember what Charlie said this morning."

It wasn't until she started undressing that she realized she hadn't brought along any high heels or dress shoes. But she was too far along by that point to worry about it.

 _I hope these sneakers with this dress,_  Mabel thought, giggling at how silly she'd look. And that, perversely, made her feel so much better.

* * *

Charlie felt relieved that Mabel was in the bathroom when he got back. Without announcing that he'd returned, he quickly undressed and slipped into his dress outfit.

"Charlie, is that you?" Mabel called from the bathroom, just as he was pulling on his pants.

"Yeah, I just got back," he said, squirming to fit his foot through one of the pant legs. "Don't come out yet."

"Almost ready," she responded. "Think we'll have time to eat."

"I don't know," Charlie said. "Maybe we can grab a snack at the theater or something. Should probably eat after the show."

"But Mabel's hungry  **now**."

"Charlie's still digesting lunch," he admitted, feeling a slight cramp in his gut.

"Well, Charlie shouldn't have eaten gross street tacos!"

"You're probably right, but we can't turn back the clock."

"Oh yes we can!"

"No more time travel, Mabel!" he said, flipping on his new jacket. "One time travel adventure per summer is enough."

"Maybe for you!"

Charlie shook his head and quickly looped his belt around his pants. He looked at his watch and saw it was nearly 6:00!

"We've got an hour to make it to the theater," he said. "Are you ready yet?"

"In a sec."

"What did your brother want?"

"Oh, usual Dipper Drama. What else is new?"

As she said that, Mabel opened the door and walked shyly into the room. Charlie looked gobsmacked as he took in the sight of her in her new outfit.

"Well? Do I look great or  **amazing**?" she said.

"The answer is yes," Charlie joked, examining Mabel's dress. He grabbed her left hand and kissed her on the back of her hand.

"Glad you like it," Mabel said. "Just something me and Isabel whipped up."

"Whipped up? Must have taken a lot of whipping."

"Nope! Just an hour or two with a measuring tape and a sewing machine!"

Mabel was so happy about her boyfriend's positive reaction that she hadn't noticed that he was dressed up, too.

"Oh my gosh, you went out and...you got...Charlie, you look so handsome!"

"Jeez, really?" Charlie stuttered, not sure what to say to that.

"You didn't have to get that jacket," Mabel gasped, examining his outfit. "But then...since you got it, you should, you know, take the tags off. Rip!" she said as she tore it off.

"Sorry, I was kind of in a rush."

"The shirt would have been enough," Mabel said, grabbing his shoulders. "I didn't expect you to come back looking like..."

"A human?"

"A movie star!"

"Movie stars wear actual suits, not cheapo Target crap."

"Ap bap bap! Don't ruin the mystique! Let me imagine you went to Brooks Brothers or your own private tailor and bought this. It's too nice to have just bought off the rack."

"Well, it's..."

"Too nice!" And she put a finger over his mouth so he wouldn't protest any further.

After a moment, the two smiled at each other and gave a hug.

"You are gorgeous," Charlie told Mabel quietly as they pulled apart.

"Oh, stop," Mabel protested. Though she felt her heart sing with delight at his complement.

"There's just one thing that would make this perfect," Mabel said, examining her boyfriend.

"What's that?"

Mabel reached down and pulled out a small, shiny metal object. "Boop!" she said, pushing it against his chest.

Charlie looked down and saw the shooting star pin on his lapel.

"Great idea," he said, admiring it. And when he looked up, Mabel put hers on her dress, as well.

"Now we're the most stylish couple ever," Mabel said.

"Well, we're not perfect," Charlie said. "I mean..." And he gestured helplessly down at his shoes. The same brown-and-white sneakers he'd worn all day.

It took Mabel a moment to register what he was telling her Then she burst out laughing uncontrollably, collapsing back on the bed.

Charlie was confused at what was so funny. Until he noticed that Mabel was wearing sneakers, too.


	4. Chapter 4

The two arrived at the Portland Center for Performing Arts just before showtime. It looked like a sellout, the lobby full to bursting with couples of all ages, dressed in varying degrees of formality. And the parking, as Charlie expected, had been a nightmare, forcing them to relocate to a garage several blocks away.

At the box office, they obtained their tickets from Charlie's friend Violet, a short, tart-tongued redhead who looked and sounded like Wendy's sister.

"You're the famous Mabel," she greeted them. "Charlie's told me a lot about you. Looks like you live up to the hype!"

"Oh, I'm  **better**  than the hype, sister!" Mabel assured her with a laugh. "And you're Violet...umm, Charlie's friend. I'm, uh, not sure what he's told me about you, but I'm sure it was good..."

"You dickhead!" Violet chided Charlie, smacking him with a playbill. "We've been friends for three years and you don't even  _mention_  me to your girlfriend? Totally lame, man."

"Sorry," Charlie reflexively apologized.

"You'd better be," Violet snapped. "Else I'll have to give these tickets to some hobos off the street. Sure they'll appreciate it more than you."

"I appreciate it," Charlie protested.

"Is the show any good?" Mabel asked, trying to steer the conversation to friendlier ground.

"Yeah, it's pretty fun," Violet said. "I mean, it's a silly old play with a lot of dated humor, but there's still a lot of laughs in it."

"Oh good, it's a comedy!" Mabel said, clapping her fingers together. "I mean, I'd prefer a musical, but that's the next best thing."

"Yeah," Charlie muttered. "Is it true you guys are doing  _The Lion in Winter_  in the fall?"

"Maybe," Violet said. "Course, not sure if I can get you tickets if you keep me a secret..."

"Well, maybe I'll buy them," Charlie insisted.

"Good deal for both of us then! Only you'll be out forty dollars."

Mabel was amused by their easy, yet barbed banter. And thought again of Isabel. Did Charlie have this relationship with  _all_  of his lady friends? He wasn't exactly the Cary Grant type, yet he always seemed to exchange repartee with his pals.

"Anyway...your seats are in the second row, not the front. Sorry. Still pretty great view, though."

"Thanks, Violet," Charlie said.

"Any time," she said. "Guess you two wouldn't be interested in a beer after the show? Or, I guess, a coffee? You don't drink, right?"

"You remembered," Charlie said sarcastically. "Good job."

"I don't drink either!" Mabel added chirpily. "Of course, I'm eighteen."

"You two are such squares," Violet said. "You're perfect for each other."

"I'm so square I'm cubed," Charlie joked.

"Oops, my boss Terry's asking for me," Violet said. "Nice seeing you, and nice meeting you, Mabel."

"Sure!"

And Violet rushed off to the wings.

"She seems nice," Mabel said.

"Well, she puts up with me," Charlie said. "Not too many people do."

"Always selling yourself short," Mabel joked, teasing his hair.

An usher came out into the lobby. "Attention, everyone! The play's starting in about fifteen minutes. Please find your way inside and take your seats. No flash photography. Please turn off your cell phones..."

"Well, are you ready?" Charlie said, turning to his date.

"As always!" Mabel said, offering her arm. Charlie stared dumbly at it for a moment, then locked arms with Mabel and led her into the theater.

"This is gonna be so much fun!" Mabel said as they made their way down the aisle, trying to push politely past loitering teens and slow-moving seniors.

Charlie smiled and led her to her seat. Mabel sat down appreciatively, beaming at him.

Then her phone buzzed.

"Oh, crap!" she muttered. "Need to turn this off." She snuck a peak at the message before she did, though. It was from Wendy:

**"Mabel - your brother is such a lame-o!"**

Mabel giggled and sent a response:

**"Tell me about it later! ;-D"**

Mabel turned her phone off and put it in her handbag. "Family stuff," she told Charlie, who shrugged.

She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed, staring happily at the lights overhead.

"This has been a great weekend," she said out loud. "And do you know why?"

"Because of the play?"

"No."

"Because I bought you sunglasses?"

"Nope!"

"Because of the swimming pool incident?"

"Not even close!"

She lifted her head up and whispered in his ear:  **"IT'S YOU!"**

Charlie smiled, nodded and patted Mabel on the back, accidentally touching her exposed skin between her shoulders.

"Ahhh!" Mabel bolted from her seat, smacking him. "How are your hands so cold?"

"Just lucky, I guess?" Charlie didn't know either, given how warm it was. He hoped they weren't sweaty.

"Warm your hands up next time, Mister!" Mabel scolded. "You've gotta stop ruining these nice moments we have! It's not fair."

"Well...we wouldn't be us if one of us didn't ruin the moment, would we?" Charlie joked.

"Guess you're right!" Mabel said thoughtfully. Then gasped with excitement. "That can be our thing!"

"...Awkwardness?"

"Sure, make it sound sad or silly. I call it spontaneity! When you're expecting one thing from your partner, you'll get another! Like, you order a taco for lunch and I give you a salad instead."

"That sounds pretty mean."

"Or, when you hold the car door open for me and I trip over my shoelaces."

"That sounds painful."

"See, you can even make spontaneity sound lame! Talk about ruining the moment."

The lights overhead flickered on and off, and Mabel squealed, ready for the show to begin. A middle-aged lady scooted over their legs, trying to find her seat. She unwittingly bumped into Charlie and sent his playbill flying across the aisle.

* * *

Considering how wonderfully the weekend was going, Charlie wished he could have enjoyed the play more. But he struggled to find it anything but asinine.

 _Boeing-Boeing_  had been a scream when first produced in the early '60s. Maybe it was funnier then, or funnier in the original French, Charlie thought. The script was modestly amusing, but most of the humor revolved around misunderstandings and hijinks like a bad TV sitcom. The plot of a guy juggling three different fiancees didn't appeal to Charlie overmuch, and he didn't have much affection for the cast either.

He'd actually seen the actor playing Bernard in a couple of earlier productions in which, in Charlie's opinion, he bombed miserably. He'd been a stiff Sir William Collyer in Rattigan's  _The Deep Blue Sea_ , and a wooden Werle in  _The Wild Duck_. Now, presented with the chance to do a comedy, he went the opposite extreme, bulging his eyes, bellowing his dialogue and gesticulating like Michael Richards on speed. If this were a pantomime performance it might work, but the poor man, sweaty and exhaustive with effort, was too obviously  begging the audience to love him, as if laughter would redeem all his past failures.

Though, Charlie observed, it didn't seem to be a bad strategy. Mabel laughed uproariously at his every line, as did most of the audience. He was playing to the crowd, and the crowd was eating it up. Charlie sat back in his chair, wondering whether something was wrong with him, or everyone else. It was hard to tell.

The other actors were adequate. Robert, Bernard's old pal, was the best played, treated as a straight man whose drollness offset Bernard's hammy performance perfectly. The female actors weren't bad, and Charlie found the young starlet playing Gloria quite attractive, if nothing else. But they still strained to make the play work, going for cheap laughs rather than trying to be good.

But hey, if the audience had a good time, who was Charlie to judge? He just wished he could join them.

What the hell, though. In the second act he joined in with the laughter, though he grew to like watching the audience's reaction more than the actual show. Middle aged couples in their Sunday best laughing uproariously at tired jokes and hoary dialogue. Younger couples, looking like they'd come from a prom or a fraternity rush, either leaning forward with exaggerated attention, or else surreptitiously kissing or texting or snoring. A community brought together with a

And Mabel, who laughed hysterically at every little thing on stage, no matter how trivial or silly. She was truly engaged with a live show in a way she rarely seemed to be with movies or television. Completely immersed, transported. One with the actors.

And there was Charlie, who didn't think much of the play, but enjoyed watching his girlfriend have a good time. Which helped him, despite himself, have a good time too.

* * *

After the show ended, Mabel and Charlie decided to hit the Yard House, an upscale sports bar/restaurant on 5th Avenue. Charlie balked at the prices, but didn't feel like looking anywhere else to eat. And besides, Mabel teased him, there was a perfectly good reason to eat here.

"You were making fun of me for eating tacos just a few hours ago!"

"True, but  **that**  was a food truck taco. How often do you get to eat... _vampire_  tacos?"

"Not happening tonight. Cheese-crispy shells doesn't sound like my line of country. Maybe I'll get the ribs but...Jesus Christ, $20?"

"What were you expecting? All these restaurants here are for the rich theater people."

"We only play them on TV," Charlie joked, though he scowled as he perused the menu.

"If you're really that hung up on price, Mr. Food Miser, we can get an appetizer and split it."

"Fish and chips could be okay," he said, resignedly. And Mabel, naturally, decided on a cheeseburger.

The two discussed the play's merits for awhile (Charlie trying to offer guarded admissions of distaste while Mabel gushed enthusiastically about  _everything_ ), then debated what to do the next day.

"I want to be back home by nightfall if we can," Charlie said.

"Sure, but that'll give us plenty of time. We can see the Museum, and...you know what we need to try while we're here?"

"What?"

" **Voodoo donuts**!" Mabel said, wriggling her hands and adopting a goofy monster movie voice.

"Those shouldn't be hard to find," Charlie agreed. "You had them before?"

"Oh yeah, Wendy used to get them for us any time she'd run up to the city. Love the ones that are covered in cereal and stuff."

"Yeah, I always liked the Butterfinger kind. Course, it always makes my teeth feel like they'll fall out."

"Okay, Old Man Charlie!" Mabel said, slurping her soda until it was empty.

Their waitress, a cheerful college age girl, came up and grabbed Mabel's empty glass.

"How late are these guys open, anyway?" Mabel wondered.

"I think until 11:00?" Charlie said. "We've still got about half-an-hour. Unless you're in a rush to get back."

Mabel smiled mischeviously. "What, and spend the rest of the night alone in a hotel room with **you**? No way!"

"You know just how to make a guy feel wanted," Charlie muttered, eating a french fry smeared with aioli.

He cried out as Mabel kicked his ankle under the table. She giggled again, then burst out laughing uncontrollably. Charlie rolled his eyes and finished his fries as their waitress returned with a new drink for Mabel.

* * *

Despite her protests, Mabel really  **did**  want to get back to the hotel with Charlie. Not that she was necessarily in a hurry to leave dinner...though if they closed in half-an-hour anyway, they wouldn't have much choice.

Today had been everything she could have dreamed. A fun day in her favorite city with one of her favorite people in the world. She couldn't have asked for anything more from the day. And Charlie had done such a wonderful job putting up with her. That alone made him special. That and how cute he looked in his coat and dress shirt, even with the crooked clip-on tie and the razor cuts and the food in his teeth and his glasses smooshed against his unfathomable cyst.

She looked forward to spending the night with him, as she always did. It would be the perfect ending to any day, but especially one as wonderful as this.

Though tonight, as she sipped her soda and watched Charlie picking bits of fish and chips from his teeth, she wasn't thinking just in terms of sharing a bed.

_Maybe it would be okay...if we went further than usual._

It still felt strange for her to think in those terms. She'd wrestled with the idea of being ready for sex for a long time, knowing that however patient she was, however much of a gentleman Charlie would be, they'd have to face it eventually. And it could be awkward, and so many things could go wrong between the two of them.

And again, despite herself, the worry about being unattractive and not appealing -  _especially_  with her clothes off, which was something completely different from looking nice in a dress or a sweater - popped into her mind.

And, if they broke up at summer's end...the sword of Damocles hovering over their relationship...then, it might just become a dim, dirty memory and, eventually, a regret for both of them. And whatever else might happen, she did  **not**  want to regret Charlie. And she didn't want him to regret her.

But, she told herself, it  _could_  also be fun. Or even the most  **amazing**  thing ever. Or at least, as Wendy hinted during their conversation at the Shack, something enjoyable and pleasant and warm and comfortable. Which might be better than a truly life-changing experience.

Still, she wouldn't push it. She didn't know how Charlie felt about having sex, and she wasn't necessarily  _eager_ , herself. Not exactly. Just willing or open to it happening. She decided to let the chips fall where they may.

Spontaneity, after all, was their new thing. Hadn't they agreed to that just before the show? Best not to plan or think about it too much.

If nothing else happened, she'd still spend the night with her boyfriend, having had a super-fun day in the city behind them, and at least another month of happiness ahead. And that was so far from nothing.

* * *

 _My God, this night couldn't get any better_ , Charlie thought to himself. He'd been really terrified about screwing something up all day, getting lost on the drive or forgetting his wallet or missing the theater or doing something to make Mabel mad at him. Aside from ruining his polo shirt and arguing about &ndra's decline into pop mediocrity, though, they hadn't hit any snags, and Mabel was still here, poking fun at him over the remains of their respective dinners.

Watching her giggle and smile and sip her soda, he thought again about how lucky he was to have such an amazing young woman in his life. She was exhausting much of the time, and silly, and strange, but a very appealing kind. A kind of silliness tempered with creativity, a sort of strangeness shaped by love. He still didn't know what he'd done to deserve Mabel Pines, but he wasn't complaining.

Not at all. Not any more.

Certainly he was thinking about the same thing Mabel thought about. How could he not, after the day he'd just have? How could he not, watching her glow in her immaculate outfit and hairdo just across the table from him?

But he took it for granted it would never happen. Knew it couldn't happen. Knew he wouldn't do anything to make it happen.

Maybe in the fantasies in his brain, it would happen. But not in real life. And certainly not right now.

He flashed back to the fleeting relationships he'd had - mostly one date disasters, occasionally longer but no more fulfilling - and how they always failed before they got anywhere near intimacy. His last girlfriend before Mabel, a girl he'd met online in Eugene, backed away in panic when he tried to kiss her on their third date. The look of horror she evinced at the idea that this loser might have feelings for her.

He deleted his online dating profile once made it home, and never spoke to her again.

Maybe it was his fault.  _Probably_  it was. He was either too pushy, or not assertive enough, with any of his dates. He couldn't find the middle ground. And he was sure he wouldn't with Mabel, who deserved so much  **better**  than him to begin with.

What had she said a little while ago?  _You can make even spontaneity sound lame!_ And he knew it was true. Better not to be too spontaneous then, especially in an amorous situation.

 _This night couldn't get any better,_  Charlie thought again, watching Mabel fling her plastic straw into a garbage can and cheer, loud enough to make a couple two tables down cringe.

_It couldn't get any better. I just need to try and make sure it doesn't get any worse._


	5. Chapter 5

Mabel laid back on the hotel bed, staring vacantly at the ceiling. Trying to process what had just happened.

She remembered getting back to the hotel, tired but dizzy with anticipation, excited and worried about what was coming next. After a few minutes of awkward conversation, Charlie threw his coat on a chair and made empty small talk, waiting until Mabel sat down on the bed to come close. She took off her earrings and necklace and sat, staring ahead as he slowly climbed into bed behind her.

And with supreme tenderness, he hugged her from behind. Stroked the skin between her shoulder blades, her hair. She felt him kiss her on the back of the neck, twice; she responded with a whimpered sigh. Her body stiffened, then went limp. She felt her pores standing up, her heart skipping a beat. She knew what was coming next, and prepared herself.

_Is this really happening? It **can't**  be. This has never happened before. No one's ever wanted to do this with me. Especially not someone I actually like. Should I stop? Should I say no? Or is it too late? What should I do?_

Charlie ran his hand down Mabel's left arm and it hovered in place next to the zipper on her dress. Her chest started heaving with breath, her head spinning with excitement and worry.

 _Do it, Charlie!_ she silently urged him, waiting to hear or to feel the motion. Faced the imminence of the thing, she lost all hesitation and worry. No time like the present.

_You don't know how much this means to me, Charlie. Maybe it's not ladylike or whatever, but this is the moment for it to happen. It couldn't be more perfect._

_You couldn't be more perfect. **We**  couldn't be more perfect._

_Make your move._

_Please._

But the move never came. Instead, Charlie lowered his hand to Mabel's side. Ran down to her hip, then cupped his arms under her chest and held her close for a long, silent minute.

Mabel felt a shudder of disappointment. Which was compounded when Charlie broke himself away from her. Without a word, barely looking at her, he walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

And Mabel's whole night, the whole wonderful day, had been shattered in an instant. All that was left was heartbreak.

_Of course he didn't want to do it. Why would he? Why would anyone want to have sex with  **me**?_

Mabel felt tears welling up in her eyes, a sickening, familiar feeling sinking in her gut. Her disappointment turned to profound sadness and resignation.

_After all, I'm Weird Ole Mabel._

_And that's who I'll always be._

* * *

Charlie had torn open his shirt. He bent over the sink, breathing heavily, eyes clenched shut, splashing water on his face and chest. His face felt flushed, and his head became a blur of terror and worry, blood pounding against his temples.

He couldn't believe that he was having a fucking panic attack now, at the most perfect moment of his life. All the meds...an awesome day...the perfect girl...and he ruined it.

He fucking  **ruined**  it.

Even once the worst of his panic disappeared, he was still left with the realization that he'd missed his chance with Mabel. That he'd had a moment where all the stars were aligned perfectly for him. And he chickened out.

He lost it. His mind betrayed him again. And he hurt his girlfriend.

He imagined Mabel storming out of the hotel room and taking a cab or driving off. Telling Dipper and Wendy and all their other friends what a weird, pathetic loser he was.

And no apology, no gift could help make up to it. He'd had his shot. And he blew it.

He struggled not to cry, turned on the fan in the bathroom to drown out his heavy breathing. Then he splashed more water on his face.

_You fucking, worthless **idiot**._

He looked at himself in the mirror. And, despite himself, forced down his feelings.

_Make this right. Now._

_Your girlfriend is out there, angry or scared or embarrassed. You have one chance to make it right._

Charlie shook his head and made a decision. He could talk to Mabel. He could make this right. Or he could at least try.

No, he  **would**  make this right.

Mabel was the best human being he'd ever met. She deserved better than him. But she'd decided that she loved him, anyway. So no more fighting it.

_Be a man. Be a boyfriend. Be a decent human being._

* * *

Mabel was still laying on the bed when Charlie came out, now wearing his t-shirt and jeans. Mabel didn't acknowledge him.

"Mabel...I'm sorry."

"Hmm."

He hesitated, walking over to the bed, wringing his hands.

"Mabel...I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened. I...I had a panic attack."

She still didn't acknowledge him.

"I mean, can't think of a shittier time to have one, right? Right when we..." He sighed, realizing how much he'd blown it.

"Mabel...This isn't easy. I don't know what happened...But..."

There was a silence as he sighed again, lowering his head into his hand. Why was this so  **hard**?

He heard the bed springs creak. When he looked up, he saw Mabel sitting up, her face a quizzical mixture of anger and expectation. He could see that she'd been crying, and felt another stab of remorse. But decided he needed to keep going.

"Mabel, I'm just gonna be straight with you. Can I?"

Mabel nodded, her expression unchanged. He sat down softly on the bed beside her, licking his lips as he tried to think of the right words.

"When we first...spent the night together, you freaked out on me. Do you remember that? It wasn't that long ago. You said you didn't want to have sex until we were both ready. And well...I don't know if I am."

Still, Mabel was silent.

"It's no reflection on you. I mean it, Mabel...Seriously. I was so ready tonight. I've never been that intimate with a girl before...even if it was just kissing and touching. I mean, I'm the biggest loser there ever was, the worst with girls or anyone. Then...I don't know what happened."

Mabel still hadn't said anything. He looked at her face and her eyes and could tell she was trying to process this information, weighing how to respond.

"When we first met...Do you remember the first words you said to me? Something about wanting to learn the history of you?" He chuckled. "My first reaction to that was, who the hell is this person? She's strange. She's  _weird_. But she's pretty. And she's nice. And she really, really, really likes you.

"And ever since that moment, I've wondered why. I don't know what on Earth you see in me that you'd want to date me. That  **anyone**  would, really, but especially someone like you. Someone who is so outgoing and fun and excitable and creative and loving and caring and...beautiful."

He moved closer. He wanted to put a hand on her shoulder to reassure her. But, since she still hadn't responded, he decided to hold back for the moment.

"Mabel Pines is the most beautiful, the most amazing person I've ever met. The one person who's done more to make me a better person, a happier person, a more whole person in a month than anyone else I've known has done in, like, two decades. Just the fact that we're in this room, on this bed together...I wouldn't have imagined it possible."

Finally Mabel reacted. She turned her head and saw that tears were welling up in his eyes, too. His voice was barely above a whisper.

"I don't deserve you, Mabel. I know I don't. But...I love you. Like I've never loved anyone else. I guess...I don't know. Maybe a part of me just doesn't want to have sex yet. Maybe I'm weird. Maybe I'm just worried. But there's no way it's because of you. There's no way that I wouldn't want you to be my...my first. There's no way I would ever want to make you feel bad."

Mabel averted her eyes, but she placed a hand on his, which gave him strength and reassurance. But only for a moment.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Today was so awesome, and I know I..."

And he broke down crying. Mabel leaned over and patted him on the back, then cradled his head.

"It's okay," Mabel said. "It's okay. It's okay."

Now she turned towards him and clasped his hands. The two looked at each other, each ones' eyes brimming with tears. Charlie sobbed a few more times until he was under control.

"Charlie, you're smart. So think about what you're saying! Really, you sound so silly when you say things like that I'm perfect or all that junk. I mean, that's not true!

"I mean, if I thought I were too good for you, would I be here? Would we have done all the dorky things together that we've done over the past month? Singing  _Hamilton_  in 1974 and &ndra in the car, giving impeachment addresses, traveling through time? Taking bullets for each other? Wearing matching sweaters and making out and sharing a bed?

"You make me happy like no guy ever has. Until I met you, I thought I knew what love was. But now...

"I've never even come close to sleeping with anyone. Not once. Not  **ever**. Never really thought about anyone in that way, really, if you can believe it! But earlier, I was so ready for you to...Blargh!"

Mabel turned away again, trying to collect her thoughts. She wanted to be careful about what she said, while being as honest as she could. She hoped she could thread that needle.

"I'm sorry. I've had crushes on a  **lot**  of guys before. I've had a few dates and plenty of heartbreaks. But none of them lasted. Nothing but a bunch of regretful memories came from them. Nothing but me feeling bad about myself for being stupid and thinking some jerk cared about me.

"But...you're different. And that's why I don't understand...Why are you so down on yourself?"

"I'm not sure I can answer that," Charlie said. "I'm kinda...I've always been bad with social stuff to begin with, and a girlfriend like you is pretty much uncharted territory."

"But that's not true! I mean, the first part at least. You talk with Isabel and, what's her name, Violet like you're the oldest pals in the world..."

"Well, we are the oldest pals..."

"But see! That's what I mean!"

"But that's different! They're my friends! They're not someone I want to have a relationship with. They're just friends. You're more than that."

Mabel took this in for a moment and bit her lip. She lowered her head and looked up shyly at him.

"But...man, I know I fucked everything up tonight," Charlie continued. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not mad," Mabel said, smiling. "Believe me. I'm really not." And she gave him another hug as proof.

"I just thought...I just worried..." She couldn't get the thought out, tripping over the words like she were Dipper or something.

"You  **really**  think I'm beautiful?"

Charlie nodded and smiled. "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

"You can dial it down a notch," she teased. "But thanks."

"I don't know how you can doubt it," Charlie said. "I mean, have you looked in the mirror lately? You're gorgeous."

"Maybe...When I was a little girl I knew I was pretty. Didn't doubt it for a second! When I was a teenager...man, you missed some awkward years, for sure! And sometimes...it's nice to hear it."

"Yeah."

"Definitely. And when you hear girls make fun of your cup size and your belly and call you names all through high school...It stings, ya know? It's hard not to believe what they say."

"I know what you mean," Charlie said. "I mean, I was such a dork in school...I still am, I guess. But girls would make fun of me all the time and it hurt."

"No way!"

"Way! They'd make fun of my looks, they'd call me nerd and book potato and all these things. Spread rumors that I was gay and all this crap. Treat me like I'm some kind of freak. And I'm like, sure, whatever. I never thought I looked that good anyway. But I didn't need people reminding me of it, you know? Especially people from the opposite sex."

No more tears. Just understanding.

"So I'm what I always thought was a freak. And I was okay with it, really. But I meet someone like you, who is so...different. And I wonder, how can  **you**  be a freak?"

Mabel smiled and touched his cheek with one hand.

"There's more than one kind of freak!" she said. "Though if you think about it, aren't we all freaks?"

"That's really deep, Mabel," Charlie said.

"As usual," she said, rolling her eyes.

The two laughed at each other, relieved that they'd regained some of their old rhythm. Then they shared a long and passionate kiss. Then Mabel broke off and pulled herself away.

"Where are you going?" Charlie asked, worried that their moment had ended.

"Getting out of this dress and into something more comfy," Mabel said with a smile. "I mean, look at you! Gotta get into my jammies to compete with a frumpy t-shirt."

"Guess you're right." And Charlie reclined on the bed, smiling happily.

"But before I do...Charlie, real talk. What are we gonna do at the end of the summer?"

Charlie sighed again, his mouth fluttering open as if trying out different thoughts and ideas and explanations. Finally, he decided to wing it.

"We'll see," he said. "I don't think either of us should promise anything. I mean, we're gonna be going to school in two different states, and who knows how that'll turn out? Maybe your true love is waiting for you in college. Maybe I'm about to meet someone else. Who knows?"

Mabel put her hands on her hips, doing her best diva impression. "That's not the most reassuring answer!" she scolded.

"I'm just being honest," he said, sitting back up. "But...I'll put it to you this way. Can I promise we'll be together forever? No. Of course I can't. And unless we get Blendin's time travel thingy back, I won't be able to see the future.

"But, Mabel, I love you. I think you're amazing and perfect. If we can make it work, we will. I'll do everything I can to...To make it work. To stay with you. I just don't wanna promise anything I can't deliver."

Mabel smiled and walked back over to him. "I understand," she said, kissing him on the head. "And I appreciate it. But, I feel the same way. And I'll know we'll find a way"

They shared another soulful look, before Mabel broke away again.

"Now if you'll excuse me, this dress is starting to chafe! Time to slip into something more Mabel!"

And she bounded off to the bathroom with exaggerated excitement. Charlie shook his head and laughed, marveling that between them, they'd managed to save the evening.

* * *

"Are you sure you need  _more_  Diet Coke? You had, like, four glasses back at the restaurant."

"What's a fifth?"

"I mean, don't you want to sleep tonight?"

"You're talking to the inventor of Mabel Juice, Charlie! Besides, I have the biggest bladder in the Pines Family."

"That's...good information, I guess."

The two raised plastic cups filled with soda in a toast.

"Let's drink to us," Charlie asked.

"Nah, too predictable," Mabel replied. "How about...to Portland?"

"To us  _and_  Portland?"

"No...to us  **in**  Portland!"

"To us in Portland?"

They clanked their cups together and swigged down the soda. 

Once they were both in casual dress, the spell of awkwardness wore off. They kept discussing the play and making small talk as if the whole scene on the bed hadn't happened. 

"So, are you still feeling like a poly sci major?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I mean, because we saw the play tonight..."

"So, you're saying I'm a sponge who absorbs the latest thing I experienced, huh?"

"I'm just saying that you tend to change your mind..."

"I told you, I'm spontaneous!" Mabel proclaimed. 

"You are the Spontaneity Queen."

"And don't you forget it!" she cheered, jumping on the bed. "Now, kneel before me."

Charlie did as he was told. She presented him with a royal hand to kiss. He obliged her without complaint.

"I dub thee Sir Charles the Dork, Master of the Scrolls and Keeper of My Heart. I sentence you to spend the night in the Queen's bedchambers."

"I accept my fate," Charlie said with mock grimness that made Mabel giggle. 

"Get up here," she said, pulling him onto the bed before he had a chance to obey. They hugged and kissed and then clambered under the bed sheets until they were comfy. Then, once they were back to feeling snug and sincere, Mabel spoke up.

"Charlie...thank you so much. For everything. For what you said tonight. And for putting up with me." 

"Well, I owe you the same."

"We're both dorks," she said, closing her eyes. "Both freaks. Both weird. We should embrace it."

"Yeah. But we can't help feeling the way we do, either."

"Yeah." Mabel sat back up, as if struck with a thought.

"Tell ya what. You don't hold my insecurity and silliness against me, I won't hold your panic attacks and nerdiness against you." 

"Deal."

The two kissed again. And Mabel laid back down and edged close to his ear.

"And if we're ready...If you'll be ready...We'll go all the way sometime before this summer's over. I promise."

Charlie nodded. "That would be nice. And I won't screw it up."

"You'd better not!" Mabel joked. Then she leaned in again and said:

"You are the best boyfriend a gal could ask for." 

"And you're the best girlfriend on Earth."

Charlie reached up to turn off the lamp. It was only after he'd done so that he realized they'd left the room's main light on. So much for that.


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn't until late Sunday night that Mabel settled into bed. Her brother, after their seemingly endless conversation and another kerfuffle with a grappling hook, fell asleep almost instantly. Which gave Mabel time to check her email. 

She and Dipper spent all afternoon and evening catching up on their crazy weekends; Mabel could hardly believe his story about green Foxfire orbs and Pacifica's weird experience. At least, until Pacifica walked in and confirmed everything.

Mabel decided to put aside any lingering distrust of the Northwest girl for the moment and to be a comfort. So she greeted Pacifica with a crushing Mabel hug, and chatted away with her like they were the oldest of friends. Which, in a way, they were.

Things got better when Wendy showed up, catching the gang up on Robbie and Tambry's latest updates and snapped pictures of the reunited twins. She brought some subs but couldn't stick around for too long, deciding that she wanted to spend the night alone and was too tired for anything amorous. Though she did make time for Mabel, as she usually did.

"Wendy, can I ask you something? It's...another boy question."

"Sure."

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to...it's kind of an awkward question to ask."

"Trust me Mabes, you're not likely to spring anything on me I can't handle."

"Have you ever dated a guy who...who wasn't ready for sex? I mean, who wasn't ready when you ready?"

This question **did**  surprise Wendy. Partly because of its bluntness (Mabel usually danced around this kind of thing), partly because it was about the last thing she would expect. And partly because, she had to be honest...she  _didn't_  have a lot of experience in this particular department.

"Me and Charlie had a weird night...I mean, the weekend was lots of fun and everything with the play and the shopping and the singing and the sunglasses and the voodoo donuts! But then we got back to the hotel room last night, and..."

She hesitated, not sure how much she wanted to share, knowing there were some confidences with her boyfriend that she wouldn't want to break, even with Wendy.

"It looked like things were going to go all the way, and then...they didn't."

"Hmm." Wendy bit her lip thoughtfully, digesting this information.

"And I was ready! I mean, I wasn't pushing him or anything, but I was expecting it to happen and...it didn't. And I felt disappointed by how it turned out."

She hung her head in sadness, as if ashamed of herself. And Wendy put a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, Mabel...Remember what I said? You're ready when you're ready. There's nothing wrong with feeling that way."

"I guess so...But what bothered me was...I thought that it was about me! I thought it was that Charlie didn't like me or didn't think of me that way or that he was backing off because...well, I told you before, I always thought nobody would want to go all the way because I'm..."

"Weird Ole Mabel," Wendy confirmed, nodding sadly.

"But I didn't even think that he might not want to have sex, that he might not be ready. And it made me feel bad. Made me feel so selfish. Because I didn't even think of  **his**  feelings."

Wendy, as usual, took a long moment to process her thoughts before responding. She let out a heavy breath before moving on.

"This whole relationship biz is complicated...I'm sure you know that by now. You're old enough, right? And, you know, I don't want you to think...Man, I feel like I gotta walk back some of what I told you before.

"Each guy is different. I mean, I know I joke about how they all want  _one thing_...and, yeah, I guess most of them do. All of them do, eventually, no matter how nice or friendly or smart or shy or different they are. But...It's unfair to think that they all act the same way. Or that they think the same way. Or, I guess, that they  **are**  the same way, Maybe I should be clear on that."

She struggled to admit this, because she knew Mabel wasn't expecting this kind of answer. Because it injected a degree of nuance that she didn't usually give her girl talks, whether with Mabel or Tambry or whomever. 

"Like your brother. I mean, what we do when we're together is  _our_  business," she warned. "We are  **not**  getting into that. But he isn't all about fucking me, you know? Not that he wouldn't like it if we did...Ugh, it's so  **weird**  talking about your  _brother_  like this to you."

"Trust me, Wendy, I don't want to know all the gross details either!" Mabel assured her. "Yuck! I mean, I have to live with him."

This made Wendy laugh. "Fair enough. But what I'm saying is, your brother likes me because I'm  **me**. Not because he thinks I'm hot, or at least not  _just_  because he thinks I'm hot. And what matters more than sleeping with me or doing any, erm, other things is that we're together. That's love, so far as I know.

"Now, again, I don't know Charlie that well, but I know how he feels about you. He couldn't be more obvious. And unless he did something this weekend to show that he doesn't feel that way...Don't worry about it, man. Just means you've got a good one. Someone you can take things more slowly with. And that's not a bad thing, Mabel."

"Yeah." Mabel smiled. "Yeah...I was just a little frustrated, because...I mean, personally, I'm fine if he wants that  _one thing_  by now...that's how much I like him, Wendy. And we were so close...I'm just worried that, you know, he'll need a written contract or something from me before he'll make a move." 

"I hope not!" Wendy joked. "Unless he's into  _Fifty Shades of Grey_  stuff..."

"Oh man, can you  **imagine**  Charlie doing S&M?" Mabel laughed uproariously at the image. 

"Just...you know, talk things out with him. One thing I  _will_  generalize about all guys...they definitely need you to point them in the right direction. Some of 'em need you to tell them no. Some, I guess, like Charlie, need you to tell them yes. Just, you know...Communicate."

Mabel nodded, grateful for this advice. She didn't worry as much about some of the things she'd worried about already. And she knew now, at least, that she could talk to Charlie about this kind of stuff. Besides everything else they did that made them a good couple. 

"Thanks, Wen," she said, hugging her friend.

"That's what I'm here for," Wendy said, patting Mabel on the back. Then she yawned and excused herself.

And that conversation played through Mabel's mind as she logged on to her phone. Her email lit up, and she saw a message from Charlie. Her heart fluttered as she opened it and saw a few pics that he'd snapped with his phone.

Most of them were banal, if fun stuff: Mabel modeling sunglasses, the two browsing kitchen equipment and books, Charlie dripping wet at poolside, holding up one of his books. Then one of them in formal dress at the theater, snapped by Violet immediately after the show...and one the two had taken earlier that morning with sleeping clothes and messy hair and eyes creased with sleep, each holding a half-eaten donut in their hand. 

And below that photo, a dedication from Charlie: 

**To the Best of Pines and Best of Girlfriends**

_Thank you for a great weekend. Sorry about the awkwardness, but we wouldn't be us without it! All part of the fun. No matter what, I know that "My life's gonna be fine because Mabel's in it."_

_Talk soon!_

_Love,_

_Charlie_

Mabel thought about typing a response, but she was too tired and too blissfully happy at that message that she decided to leave it be. 

She sank back in her covers and closed her eyes. It hadn't been the smoothest weekend, or the easiest. It hadn't even been perfect. And she wondered, however fleetingly, whether the two of them  _really_  had worked out their issues for good.

But that was okay. Because Charlie Huston loved Mabel Pines.

And Mabel Pines loved him.

**THE END**


End file.
